


Hold Me Tight

by PepperVL



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Character Death Fix, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperVL/pseuds/PepperVL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint isn't sleeping well. The other Avengers help. </p><p>Or</p><p>Five times one of Clint's teammates cuddled him and one time they didn't need to (but all did anyway).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Natasha

Clint had his knife out of its sheath, poised to throw or attack before he recognized the figure sitting cross-legged on the bed. "Natasha," he said as he exhaled, tension slipping out of his muscles as his brain recataloged the invader as friendly. "If I had my bow, I'd have shot you already."

Natasha shrugged, looking for all the world like she didn't care if Clint shot her or not. "I knew you would recognize me."

"I almost didn't." Clint slipped his knife back into the sheath and secured the door behind him. Neither would provide much protection in the event someone was determined to get in, but he felt a little better for both. As better as he could feel at the moment, anyway.

"But you did." Natasha slid off the bed, padded across the room, and put her hands on Clint's shoulders as she looked him in the eyes. "I trust you not to hurt me." That made one of them, but Clint didn't argue with her. It was nice to know after the cluster fuck of the past several days, someone still trusted him. "Why don't you have your bow?" Natasha asked as she stepped back. "I thought you slept with it."

It was an old joke between them, but after the looks he'd gotten when he'd stepped onto the range, his bow held loosely in his hand, Clint couldn't smile. "You're the only one who trusts me not to hurt them." Not that he blamed the other agents. He had attacked the Helicarrier just three days ago, disabling two of the engines with well-placed shots and taking down more agents than he cared to think about. Even helping save the world didn't get him a pass on that.

Natasha snorted indelicately. "Idiots."

"They have reasons." Clint didn't meet Natasha's eyes as he stepped around her. She didn't agree—he could tell just from the tension in her frame—and he wasn't in the mood to argue. He deserved censure after what he'd done.

"Clint." Natasha caught his arm, holding it loosely in a hold he could easily break without hurting either of them. "It's not your fault."

"Feels like it."

"You said yourself Loki unmade you. Pushed you out and put something else in. It was _him_. Not you."

That was the same thing Clint had been told countless times since leading the attack that had given Loki free reign on the Helicarrier—the attack that had left Phil _dead—_ then helping defeat him, but he still couldn't believe it, not even from Natasha. "I guess." He pulled his hand from Natasha's grip and stepped farther into the room, wondering what he was going to do now that he couldn't pass another sleepless night on the range. "Why are you here, anyway?"

Natasha crossed back to the bed and settled in a lotus position. "I'm sleeping here."

"But—" Clint stopped himself before he admitted he had no plans to sleep. Natasha didn't need to know about the nightmares that kept him up all night. "Why?"

"They're doing repairs near my quarters. It's too loud to sleep." Natasha shrugged. "It won't be the first time we've shared a bed."

The repairs couldn't be louder than some other things they'd both slept through before, but Clint was neither stupid nor self-destructive enough to call the Black Widow a liar. "Fine," he said, sighing as he resigned himself to a night staring into the darkness while Natasha slept pressed against his back.

"Thanks."

The smile she sent him was grateful enough Clint felt guilty for doubting her, and he managed to force his lips to curl up as he exchanged his uniform for boxers and a t-shirt. Natasha was already dressed for bed in yoga pants and a tank top, and she scooted toward the wall to make room for him as he approached. It was such a display of trust that Clint froze, his brain refusing to process what his eyes were seeing. Natasha was even more paranoid than he was, and she would never let anyone trap her against the wall like that unless it was part of a cover.

Except apparently she would, because she stretched out on her back and patted the mattress of the small bed. "Come on. I'm tired. We've only got a few hours before we have to be up again."

Clint flicked off the light and climbed onto the bed, lying on his side with his back to Natasha. He fully expected her to turn toward the wall—back-to-back was how they always slept on missions—but she rolled the other way, pressing her chest against his back and slipping her arm around his waist.

"Relax," she whispered, her lips so close to his ear she was practically nuzzling his neck. "You're too tense."

"Hard not to be."

"It doesn't matter what they think," she said, knowing without being told his tension had nothing to do with how she was curled around him, despite what it would have done to anyone else familiar with her particular skill set.

"Easy for you to say. No one is looking at you like they expect you to kill them," Clint muttered, as he shifted slightly. It was surprisingly comfortable to have Natasha wrapped around him like this. His muscles started relaxing despite his resolve to stay up all night to keep the nightmares at bay.

"Screw them." Natasha curled her fingers loosely around Clint's wrist again. "It's not your fault."

"I know." He did, really, though it was hard to believe when the agents he passed in the halls looked at him like that.

"They know too." Natasha slid her leg between Clint's in a way that should have felt restrictive but instead relaxed him further. "They've got no right to make you feel bad."

"It's...." Clint sighed, too tired to explain that Fury clearing him didn't mean the people he'd attacked were going to feel better about seeing him around. "Yeah. Doesn't stop them, though."

Natasha sighed behind him, and their breathing fell into an easy pattern as they lay together in the darkness. Clint's eyelids slowly started to droop as the steady rise and fall of Natasha's chest against his relaxed the last of the tension from his body and the exhaustion that came from avoiding sleep since Loki crept over him.

"We could take Stark up on his offer," Natasha said just as Clint's eyes slipped fully closed. "Move in with him."

Clint huffed in amusement without opening his eyes. He hadn't taken the idea seriously when Stark had tossed it out over schawarma, but at the time he hadn't been able to think past wondering if SHIELD would forgive him for the things he'd done while under Loki's control. When he'd moved past that, he'd only been able to wonder if he'd ever be able to forgive himself, particularly once he'd learned about Phil. "Fury won't like it."

"Fury's got no way to stop us, and no right either." Natasha lifted her head from where it was nuzzled against Clint's neck, presumably to peer down at him in the darkness. "No one will look at you funny there."

"Yes, they will." Clint's lips curled up into a fond smile as he thought about the looks he would likely encounter in Stark's tower. "They won't look at me like _that_ though."

Natasha huffed in amusement as she laid her head back down. "True." She shifted closer, wrapping Clint in her warmth. "So are we moving?"

It wasn't much of a decision. With Natasha soft and secure against his back and the idea of living somewhere they still trusted him in his head, Clint felt right for the first time since waking up in the infirmary. "Yeah."

"Good." Natasha sighed into the back of his neck and let her body relax around Clint's. "I'll tell Tony in the morning. Sleep now."

Briefly, Clint wondered when Stark had become Tony to Natasha, but it was too much effort to ask. Instead, he hummed his agreement and nuzzled down into the pillows as he gave into the long-resisted lure of sleep.


	2. Tony

Clint padded silently into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light spilling out of it. It was full—another surprise since it had been empty that morning—and as Clint let his eyes roam over the shelves, he noticed several of this favorite foods tucked in next to things he knew Natasha enjoyed. Things that definitely hadn't been in the refrigerator a week ago when they'd moved in.

"I asked JARVIS to extrapolate your favorites from what you were eating and add them to the grocery order."

Only years of training kept Clint from flinching at the unexpected noise. He turned, leaving the refrigerator door open to illuminate the dark kitchen. The arc reactor powering the building could handle the strain. "What? How?" He'd only eaten enough to keep Natasha from yelling at him since moving in, nowhere near enough for anyone to figure out what he enjoyed

Tony leaned against the counter and shrugged, the blue glow of his arc reactor bright in the darkness. "He analyzed what you ate and how you reacted to what everyone else ate. It's not perfect, but he'll get better with more data. Won't you, JARVIS?"

"Indeed, sir."

"See?" Tony grinned, looking even more pleased with himself than usual. "Give it a couple weeks and JARVIS will only order things you love."

"If you prefer, Agent Barton, you may simply tell me what you would prefer I order."

"What? No." Tony pointed his index finger at Clint. "Don't tell JARVIS what you want. He needs to figure it out himself."

"I was simply suggesting it might be easier for Agent Barton, sir."

"Don't be ridiculous. Clint has plenty he likes. He doesn't need to tell you what to order, do you, Clint?"

"Uh. No?" It was easier for Clint to give Tony the answer he wanted than to wrap his mind around the argument Tony was having with his AI and pick sides. Honestly, Clint had never seen so many of his favorite things in one place before. The idea that he just had to ask to get more was not something he was ready to contemplate just yet.

"See?" Tony spread his arms wide. "Clint's happy and you get to continue challenging yourself. Everyone wins."

"Indeed, sir."

From the surprisingly droll tone of JARVIS's voice, Clint suspected he'd be getting a private inquiry from JARVIS as soon as Tony was out of the room.

"Great!" Tony clapped his hands and came to peer into the refrigerator, pushing Clint out of the way with his shoulder. He grabbed the makings of a sandwich and slapped it together quickly. "You want one?" he asked, holding up the dripping monstrosity. "It looks gross, I know, but this stuff was all I had that time Coulson had me on house arrest and—"

Tony broke off, clearly aware he'd said the wrong thing, but it was too late. The tendril of hunger that had sent Clint to  the kitchen fled, leaving his stomach roiling in its wake. "No thanks," he managed, pushing the refrigerator door closed as he tried to figure out where to flee. The range was out—the one Tony was building wasn't finished yet, and drawing arrows wouldn't help him forget he'd led the attack that had enabled Loki to kill Phil anyway—as was his room. He might fall asleep, and he knew he'd have nightmares. Maybe he could sit on the roof or go for a walk or—

Tony's hand landed on Clint's shoulder, breaking his train of thought. "I'm sorry," Tony said, gently squeezing and looking more serious than Clint had ever seen him. "I didn't mean to bring that up."

Clint shrugged, trying to hide how uncomfortable the attention made him. "It's okay. I'm just not hungry." He wasn't going to discuss his feelings about Coulson's—or any agent's—death with Tony Stark of all people. He hadn't even talked about it with Natasha or the SHIELD shrinks.

"Uh huh." Tony put the monstrosity he claimed was a sandwich in the refrigerator and grabbed Clint's bicep, steering him toward the elevator. "You want to try that again?"

"No." Clint tried to pull away, but Tony's grip was stronger than it looked. Or maybe Clint was just too worn out to really fight. He tugged again, but when Tony just gave him a look, he sighed. "I can't eat. I'll get sick."

"Better." Tony pulled Clint into the elevator and hit the button for the top floor. He kept his grip on Clint's arm even when the doors closed, and hauled him off a few seconds later when the doors opened to reveal the room where they'd defeated Loki.

Clint could almost look at the spot where he'd given in and not put an arrow through Loki's eye without flinching, but he was grateful when Tony pulled him past the fireplace and down the hall toward the undamaged rooms. "Where are we going?"

"My room." Tony tightened his grip as Clint tried to pull away. "Well, the one I use. Technically, they're all mine."

"Why?" Clint dug his heels in.

Tony ignored it and dragged him down the hall. He was stronger than he looked; he pulled Clint along with more ease than Clint's lack of energy to fight accounted for. "I need an opinion on something. You're up. You get to give it to me." Tony steered Clint through a door at the end of the hall and kicked it closed behind them. "What do you think?"

Clint blinked as he looked around the room. It was nice, decorated in earth tones with abstract art on the walls. The dark wood furniture was elegant but understated and the floor-to-ceiling windows that took up one entire wall showed a breathtaking view of the New York skyline. With the exception of the windows and the giant bed in the middle of the room, it wasn't what Clint expected of Tony at all. "It's, uh...."

"Mostly Pepper's taste." Tony waved off Clint's uncertainty. "I wasn't really asking about the decoration anyway."

"What then?" Clint asked, his stomach sinking as Tony pulled him closer to the bed. He managed to find a little strength to resist, but all that did was force Tony to change tactics.

He wrapped an arm around Clint's waist, yanked, and toppled them both onto the bed. Clint tried to twist free, but Tony moved with him, and they landed on their sides, Tony's arms around Clint's waist and his arc reactor pressing into Clint's back.

"The bed. It's a new kind of mattress. Oh, and pillows too." Tony grabbed two and shoved one under Clint's head. "Nice, aren't they?"

"They're _pillows,_ Tony." Clint shoved back against Tony's chest. "Now let go. Not spooning with you."

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Legolas." Tony rolled, pulling Clint onto his back, and slung a leg over Clint's. "I just want to know what you think of the bed."

Clint shrugged. "It's nice?" It was more than nice—the pillow cradled his head perfectly and the mattress was firm enough to support his back and still the softest thing he could remember lying on—but he wasn't going to tell Tony that. He was going to give Tony as little as possible and get out before he had to acknowledge how comfortable he felt with Tony curled around him.

"Nice?" Tony glared at Clint. "These are state of the art, Clint! The latest in sleep technology! They're more than nice."

"They're very comfortable," Clint admitted. His mind was still rebelling against the idea of lying in bed with Tony Stark for any reason, but the tension was flowing from his muscles, and he relaxed into the inviting comfort of the bed despite his best intentions.

"They ought to be." Tony settled in on his side, his head on the second pillow and an arm and a leg on Clint. They were just resting there now, no longer holding him to the bed, but as Tony started to babble about the science behind the pillow and mattress, Clint realized he didn't want to get up. For the first time since moving into the tower—since the night Natasha had ambushed him in his quarters—he thought he might be able to get some real sleep.

Sighing, Clint closed his eyes and let Tony's soft babble keep the nightmares away as he drifted off to sleep.


	3. Bruce

Clint pressed one hand against the small of his back as he slowly walked into the private elevator that led to the top floors of the tower. SHIELD medical had cleared him after the fight against the spider-like aliens that knocked him off the roof, but he was still sore from the strain of battle and Hulk catching him.

As the elevator doors closed, Clint sagged against the back wall. "Take me to the TV room, please, JARVIS." He was supposed to rest, but after facing down another alien attack just six weeks after the Chitauri invasion, he knew he wouldn't be able to. Even though he personally hadn't lost anyone this time, the situation was too similar for it to do anything but remind him of Phil's death.

"Of course, sir. Will you require anything else?"

Clint was certain he heard disapproval in JARVIS's voice, but he ignored it just as he had ignored Sitwell's concern after the battle. He was _fine_. Really.

"No, thank you," he said, pushing himself off the wall as the elevator stopped. "Just going to watch some television until I can sleep." He had no intention of trying to sleep at all, but it seemed to be enough to satisfy JARVIS.

"Very good, sir," he said as he slid the elevator doors open to reveal the empty living room. The large television on the far wall was on, a list of Clint's favorite programs already queued up on it, and Clint smiled as he shuffled across the room, looking forward to collapsing on the couch and losing himself in some mindless television.

The elevator doors opened again when he was halfway to the couch. He whirled around, the tension that had started to drain from him ratcheted back up at the unexpected intrusion.

"Clint?" Bruce stepped off the elevator looking as uncertain as always. "Shouldn't you be heading to bed?"

"Going to watch some TV first." Clint waved Bruce off, hoping he would be spared the need for further social interaction. He'd been pretending, mostly, for the month they'd been living in the tower, but he really wasn't up to being friendly tonight.

Bruce stepped forward, his head tilted slightly as he looked Clint up and down. "You should lie down. You have to be sore. I remember the Other Guy catching you."

"I thought you didn't remember stuff from when he came out."

"Bits and pieces." Bruce shrugged. "He likes you guys. He doesn't like it when you get hurt."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't my choice to fall off a building. Thor was supposed to pull me out of there."

"I know." Bruce brushed his fingers across Clint's chest, and Clint wondered when he'd gotten so close. "So does the Other Guy. Doesn't mean he likes it, though."

"So, what? He wanted you to make sure I'm okay? I'm _fine_."

"You're sore." Bruce took Clint by the shoulder, one of his fingers digging into the muscle where it joined his neck, and Clint moaned. "Let me help."

"How?" Part of Clint wanted to twist away and regain his distance, but he could feel the muscles in his back and neck relaxing as Bruce dug his finger in.

"Like this." Bruce moved his finger a little and a wave of pain shot down Clint's back. It was nearly enough to make him fall, but then something released under Bruce's finger and the pain changed to an almost pleasant ache.

"Oh," he said, blinking as Bruce let go and blood flowed back into the area. "That was...."

"Yeah." Bruce smiled shyly. "Now come on. It works better when you're lying down." He led the way into the elevator, glancing back only once to be sure Clint followed.

He did, half in a daze as he wondered just what Bruce had done to make his muscles relax like that. He'd had massages after tough missions before, from Natasha, and Phil, and masseuses employed by SHIELD, but they'd never managed that so quickly. Bruce's fingers were clearly magic.

They brushed against his neck again when the elevator doors opened onto what Clint assumed was Bruce's floor. He hadn't actually been to Bruce's area since moving in, but he was too worn down to be curious as Bruce guided him into a bedroom and pushed him toward a bed. "Lie down."

Clint blinked and looked up long enough to note the lack of personal touches that indicated this was Bruce's guestroom rather than his actual bedroom, then climbed on the bed. Bruce's hand stayed on his back as he stretched out, pressing down on sore muscles hard enough to make Clint moan. "Damn. Hurts more than I thought."

Bruce made a soft noise that could have been a chuckle as he sat on the bed next to Clint and slid his hands down Clint's back. "I'm not surprised. The Other Guy isn't known for being gentle." He pressed his thumbs into the base of Clint's spine and moved them out until he found two knots and pushed hard.

"Better than hitting the pavement," Clint said, suppressing a moan as the knots in his back released. "That would've hurt more."

"True." Bruce moved his hands up further on Clint's back. "That doesn't mean you should ignore it if the Other Guy injures you."

"I went to medical," Clint protested. "Got checked out. They said I'd be sore for a couple days and should rest, that's all."

"You weren't going to rest," Bruce chided gently, his soft voice at odds with the sharp way his hands dug into Clint's back.

Clint wanted to protest, to tell Bruce that sitting on the couch watching mindless television would be far more restful than tossing and turning all night because his nightmares wouldn't leave him alone, but all he managed was an incoherent sound of pleasure as Bruce released another knot in his back. If Bruce kept this up much longer, Clint wouldn't be able to get up and go back upstairs when he finished.

Bruce chuckled as though he had somehow read Clint's mind. "Just relax. You can stay here tonight."

That really wasn't an option. Clint wouldn't risk waking Bruce with his nightmares, and they would start as soon as he was left alone to sleep. It would be better for everyone if he left as soon he could. "Can't."

Bruce pushed him back down as soon as he started to get up, pinning him to the bed with alarming ease. "You can," he said in a low voice, his mouth close to Clint's ear and his chest pressed against Clint's back. "Just relax and let me do this." He paused, pulled back a little. "I did this. I need to fix it."

Clint opened his mouth to protest and snapped it shut again as he recognized the hollow tone in Bruce's voice. He knew what it felt like to hurt people when he wasn't himself, and he knew what he would do for the opportunity to right even one of the wrongs he'd done while under Loki's control. If this was what Bruce needed to get a small measure of the peace Clint knew they both craved, Clint would let him. He could always slip out later.

"Okay," he said, already relaxing again under Bruce's touch. "Thanks."

"Just _relax_ ," Bruce admonished, managing to sound slightly annoyed. Clint could hear the gratitude in his tone, though, and smiled as he relaxed into the pillows. Bruce's fingers pressed into knot after knot, releasing them one at a time and leaving Clint limp with relief.

He dozed as Bruce's nimble fingers worked over his back, lulling him closer and closer to sleep. His mind wandered, though not down the paths he'd feared. Instead, he drifted in a sea of good memories, and he was smiling when Bruce squeezed his shoulders and leaned down to his ear again.

"Go to sleep, Clint," Bruce said as he stretched out on the mattress next to Clint and slid an arm over the small of his back. "I'll stay right here."

The last bit of worry about nightmares slipped from Clint's mind and he hummed, too close to sleep to agree any other way. Bruce settled warm and heavy against his side, completing his own penance as he kept Clint's nightmares at bay, and it was just what Clint needed to get the rest the doctors had prescribed. He stopped fighting, nestled in a little closer to Bruce, and let himself sleep.


	4. Thor

Clint tensed as he heard the door open behind him but kept his eyes on the twinkling lights of the city, hoping whoever it was would take the hint and leave without talking to him. In the weeks since moving into the tower, Clint had discovered the Iron Man landing pad was a good place to be alone. No one else came out here except Tony, and he was with Pepper, unlikely to need the pad unless they were called to assemble.

Footsteps echoed loudly in the still night air, letting Clint know his unexpressed wishes had not been heeded, and he sighed. He really wasn't sure he could deal with this tonight, not when he hadn't slept in almost three days for fear the nightmares would overwhelm him. He especially wasn't sure he could deal with the man standing behind him, far enough away that it wasn't exactly an intrusion of his privacy, but close enough Clint no longer felt alone.

"Need something, Thor?" he asked, twisting around and looking up. Maybe Thor just had a question and couldn't find anyone else and would go inside once Clint answered it.

"I was hoping you would come inside and watch one of your moving pictures with me." Thor stepped a little closer. "I am afraid I do not understand them without someone to explain the Midgardian references to me."

"You want to watch a movie without Tony?" Clint raised an eyebrow. Tony was usually the one who made Steve and Thor watch movies, claiming they couldn't understand his true brilliance until they understood all his pop culture references. Clint hadn't thought Thor would be interested in watching movies without Tony around to make him.

"I am in need of a distraction tonight." Thor put his hands behind his back and shifted, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I thought you might be as well."

Clint was trying very hard not to think about that. Two days ago had been two months exactly since Loki had touched a spear to his chest. Tonight was two months since he'd stolen the iridium, two months since Thor had arrived to confront his brother. Clint hadn't wanted to spend today with the brother of the person responsible, but Thor was a friend, and watching a movie would be a better distraction than staring out at the lights of New York.

He took a moment to realign his thinking, then smiled, hoping it didn't look too forced. "Yeah."

Thor beamed and held out his hand. "Excellent! I have asked JARVIS to select a show Tony will not insist upon watching with me." He yanked Clint to his feet so fast it made Clint's head spin and clasped an arm around his shoulders. "He also promised to help me make popcorn."

"Sounds good." Clint let Thor lead him inside. The arm over his shoulders should have been awkward, but it felt comforting instead, and somehow he didn't manage to pull away until they reached the couch in front of the giant television. Thor gently pushed Clint down onto it and disappeared, then reappeared a few minutes later with drinks and popcorn.

"Would you like any other food?" he asked, setting the bowl and glasses down on the coffee table. "JARVIS has informed me there are other traditional movie snacks in the pantry. He also offered to have something delivered."

Clint should have taken him up on the offer—he hadn't really eaten in the past few days either—but the idea of picking something was too overwhelming. "Popcorn's good." He probably wouldn't manage more than a few bites anyway.

Thor nodded very seriously and sat down next to Clint, setting the popcorn bowl between them. "JARVIS, would you start the adventure you selected?"

The ease with which Thor had accepted JARVIS had shocked Clint. It was still difficult to reconcile the man sitting next to him in jeans and t-shirt casually asking JARVIS to do things with the mythological warrior who joined them in battle, but tonight that was a good thing. It made it easier for Clint to separate Thor from his brother.

The movie started while Clint sorted his thoughts. Thor gently nudged him with an elbow, and he blinked, trying to clear his head. "Hmm?"

"Are you not planning to consume any popcorn?" Thor looked genuinely concerned. "I do not wish to eat your portion inadvertently."

"Right." Clint took a handful of popcorn and munched on it while he tried to focus on the movie. There was a lot of gunfire and some explosions, but nothing that gave him any idea what they were watching. He wondered how long he'd been daydreaming to get this far without noticing.

The popcorn was good, and Clint was hungrier than he'd been willing to admit. As soon as he swallowed the first bite, his stomach woke up, and he devoured the rest of out as quickly as he could.

When his fingers brushed the bottom, finding only unpopped kernels, Clint blinked and looked sheepishly at Thor. "Think I ate your portion. Sorry."

"Do not worry about it, my friend. You clearly needed the sustenance more than I." Thor picked up the bowl. "Shall I make another?"

Clint waved him off. "Only if you want some. I'm good."

"Very well." Thor set the bowl on the coffee table and picked up his drink.

Clint grabbed his as well and settled back on the couch, sipping at the expensive whiskey as he tried to make sense of the movie. It was a good thing Thor hadn't asked him any questions. He had no idea what was going on. The explosions and gunfire had stopped, but Clint didn't recognize any of the actors, and the dialogue sounded as though it were being spoken underwater.

He drifted for a while, focusing just enough to stay awake, but not really trying to make sense of what was happening on the screen. After a while he stopped sipping his drink and later still he felt it gently pulled from his hand.

"You should rest," Thor said, setting Clint's cup on the table. When he sat back, he put his arm around Clint's shoulders and pulled Clint against his side.

Clint struggled a little, trying to pull away, but Thor was stronger even on Clint's best day, and today was far from it. He could barely squirm enough to get his arm in a comfortable position. "Uh, Thor?"

"Rest." Thor loosened his grip enough to let Clint settle but tightened it again when he tried to sit up. "There is no shame in taking offered comfort, Clint."

There was when he didn't want anyone to know he needed it, but Clint didn't feel like he had any other choice than to nod. He was trapped in Thor's powerful grip. "I know. I'm fine, though."

"I am aware you have not been resting well," Thor said, shattering Clint's illusion that he'd kept his insomnia hidden from the other Avengers. "You appeared to be resting here. Let me make you more comfortable."

"You think I'll be more comfortable like this?" Clint asked skeptically.

"If you allow yourself to relax, yes," Thor said, a hint of reproach in his tone. "My lady Jane assures me it is so."

Clint wasn't sure he believed it, but Thor clearly wasn't going to let him up until he tried, so he forced himself to relax. It was awkward at first, but as his body settled in against Thor's, he had to admit Jane had a point. This was surprisingly comfortable. "She's right."

"Of course she is," Thor said as though the idea of Jane being wrong was incomprehensible. "Now rest. Watch the tale if you wish, but do not be ashamed to sleep if that is what your body requires. I will not wake you."

Clint hummed his agreement and focused on the television again, determined not to let Thor lull him to sleep. There was gunfire again, loud enough it should have kept him awake, but the noises faded, blending together until he couldn't tell one sound from another. As he watched, the screen blurred, his eyes losing focus, and he forgot why it was important to keep them open.

With a sigh, Clint slumped further against Thor and let himself relax completely for the first time in three days. The sound of the television faded away as Clint drifted off, and the last thing he noticed was a warm blanket being pulled over him as he relaxed into sleep.


	5. Steve

Clint flinched as the range door slammed shut before he could slip through. He glared at the hand holding it closed while he tugged on the knob in token protest, then turned, crossed his arms, and scowled at the hand's owner. "Let me in, Steve."

"No." Steve looked down at Clint with a slightly reproving expression. "It's 3 am, Clint. You should be asleep."

"You're not." Clint's scowl didn't waver. If Steve wanted him anywhere but the range, he'd have to drag him.

"I don't need as much sleep as you do."

"I'm not tired."

Steve's expression softened. "You have to be. We spent all day chasing renegade robots. I saw your arms shaking."

That was exactly why Clint was here instead of any of the other places he frequented when he knew he had to stay up or risk nightmares. He hadn't missed, but it had been close a few times, and he needed to work on his endurance so it didn't happen again.

When he said as much, Steve looked at him sadly. "You need _sleep_ , Clint. You were exhausted before we fought today. I know you haven't been sleeping well."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, that's not going to change."

"Yes, it will." It was sweet how certain Steve sounded, but Clint's nightmares couldn't be overcome by Captain America's determination.

"You can't make me sleep, Steve," Clint said, slumping against the range door. "This isn't something you can fix."

"I know." Steve slid his hand down the door and clasped Clint on the shoulder. "But I can help for tonight. Come on."

Clint considered resisting, but Steve's hand tightened on his shoulder and pulled him away from the door before he'd fully formed a plan to get away. He stumbled the first few steps before he regained his balance and tried to twist away.

Steve tightened his grip in response, digging his fingers into Clint's shoulder. "You're going to bed now, Clint. You need sleep."

He did, but that didn’t matter. Every blade in the battle today had looked like Loki's scepter to him. Every time he closed his eyes, even to blink, he saw the shiny metal blade approaching his chest and heard "You have heart" echoing inside his head. He'd go mad trying to fall asleep.

"I can't sleep, Steve," he said, stepping closer so Steve would loosen his grip a little. "I get—"

"Nightmares, I know." Steve pushed Clint into the elevator. "Take us to Clint's floor, please, JARVIS." As they started moving, he stood in front of Clint and held him loosely by both shoulders. "I know you've been having nightmares since Loki."

"Yeah, well, what do you expect?" Clint crossed his arms again, trying to put some distance between himself and Steve. "He pushed me out of my own head and poured himself in."

"I didn't say it was something to be ashamed of, Clint," Steve said gently, steering Clint out of the elevator when it stopped on his floor. "Just that I'd noticed."

Clint wasn't sure how he should respond to that. He was ashamed, not that he had nightmares, but that he couldn't stop them. There had only ever been one thing that kept bad dreams at bay even before Loki. With Phil dead, there was no one to hold Clint every time things got bad. It was just one more thing Loki had taken from him.

Steve released Clint's shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. "I also noticed you sleep better if someone's with you."

"Well, I don't have anyone." Clint looked away, unable to meet Steve's earnest stare. "Phil's not here anymore, thanks to me. Guess I get to suffer."

"Thanks to _Loki_ ," Steve corrected, giving Clint a stern look. It faded quickly, morphing into something far kinder than Clint deserved. "Did he help? Before?"

"Yeah." Clint looked down, refusing to meet Steve's eyes. "That's how we got together. I had a nightmare on a mission and he uh...." He trailed off, unable to say anything else on the subject. It was too painful to think about right now, with thoughts of those blue-tinted days so close to the forefront of his mind.

"Then let me help." Steve held up a hand, silencing Clint's automatic protest. "I'm not trying to replace him, or saying you shouldn't feel guilty, or anything like that. I just noticed you sleep if you're not alone, and you need sleep. Let me help."

"I don't—" Clint broke off, unsure what he wanted to say. He couldn't truthfully claim he didn't sleep better with someone there, nor could he claim he didn't need to sleep tonight. The only nights he'd slept through since Loki had been the nights his teammates had tricked him into sharing space with them. He could truthfully say he didn't want it—the idea of replacing Phil with Phil's idol, even for a night, felt wrong—but he couldn't deny he needed the rest.

"You do." Steve pushed Clint toward the bedroom. "Go change."

Clint stumbled a few steps until he caught his balance. "Change into what?"

"Whatever you sleep in," Steve said, sounding amused. "I assume it's not that."

Clint glanced down at his SHIELD-issued practice gear and shook his head. "No." He didn't have his weapons—he hadn't gotten them out yet when Steve ambushed him—but he was wearing a shooting glove and bracer in addition to pants with padded knees and a tactical vest. He _could_ sleep in it—he'd slept in it and worse before—but it wasn't his first choice.

"Then go change," Steve ordered in a tone that left little doubt in Clint's mind he would be sleeping in this if he didn't obey.

"All right." Clint grabbed a t-shirt and pajama pants from his dresser and slipped into the bathroom to change. Usually, he'd change right there, audience or not, but he didn't have the energy to risk another argument tonight.

When he emerged, Steve was sitting on his bed, hands on his knees and a patient look on his face. "Ready?"

Clint shuffled awkwardly. He wasn't sure he could make himself deliberately get in bed with Steve. Even when he wasn't being Captain America, there was something almost untouchable about him that Clint didn't want to tarnish. "Sure. Just going to get a drink, then I'll get in bed. You can go."

"I'm not going anywhere, Clint," Steve said, looking at him with enough sympathy that it stopped Clint cold. "You need to sleep and you won't if I leave."

Privately, Clint doubted he'd sleep with Steve there, either, but he was powerless against Steve's worried look and strong hands. He only put up a token resistance as Steve dragged him over to the bed and let Steve manhandle him on to it. As Steve pushed him over and tried to arrange his limbs, Clint finally noticed Steve was wearing sleep clothes too. Steve had planned this, dressed for the occasion, and probably conspired with JARVIS to be sure he could intercept Clint at the right time. "You planned this," he accused as Steve climbed into bed next to him.

"Yes," Steve admitted easily as he pulled Clint into his arms and settled with both of them on their sides, facing each other. "You need sleep. It's my job to make sure you get it."

Clint scowled as he tried to figure out how he ended up with his head pillowed on Steve's arm with Steve's other hand on his waist. It was surprisingly comfortable, but he couldn't figure out what to do with his hands. Folding them against his chest didn't feel natural and putting one on Steve's waist would be weird. "You can't do this every night."

"No, but I can every time it gets bad," Steve offered as though cuddling him so he could sleep was as normal as fixing dinner. "Or I can make sure someone else does, if you'd rather."

"You're going to order people to cuddle me?" Clint snorted as he pictured Tony's response to that order.

"No. I'll ask them to." Steve looked straight at Clint, his expression so full of understanding it made Clint wish the lights weren't on. "You could ask them instead of waiting for someone to notice. We all want to help you get through this."

Clint tried to roll onto his back but was stopped by Steve's hand on his hip. "Don't know that I'll be able to get though this, Steve. Nothing is—" He tucked his chin and closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see Steve's face while he said it. "Phil is dead, half of SHIELD doesn't trust me, and neither of those things is gonna change. There is no through. It just is."

"It'll get easier," Steve said softly. "Eventually."

Clint had suffered enough loss in his life that he was intimately familiar with the grieving process...and the sound of barely buried pain. Someday, it would cease to feel like a fresh wound whenever he thought of Phil, and he wouldn't hear Loki's voice in his head at the slightest reminder, just as Steve would stop feeling pain every time he thought of the friends he left when he went into the ice. Right now, though, it was hard, and knowing that someday it wouldn't hurt as much didn't make today any easier.

"I know," Clint said in a voice just as quiet as Steve's. "Gonna suck for a while, though."

"There's nothing wrong with letting us help you while it does." Steve relaxed his grip on Clint's hip, though he left his hand resting there. "We understand."

Clint rolled onto his back, keeping his head pillowed on Steve's arm. If anyone could understand, it was his teammates. His friends. The people he now realized had tricked him into sleeping when he most needed it over the past several weeks, who had known when to leave him alone, and who had managed to support him though their own pain and despite his best efforts.

"I'll try," he said eventually, not sure he could promise more. Of all the people he'd let in before Loki, only Natasha was left, the rest ripped away by death or distancing themselves because of his betrayal. It was difficult to let people in with that so fresh in his mind.

It seemed to be enough for Steve. He curled up a little, tucking his knees against Clint's leg, and nodded. "Good. Now sleep. JARVIS, will you get the lights?"

The lights darkened in silent response to the request. Clint shifted to press more of his body against Steve's, using the warmth and offered comfort to distract him from his memories. It wasn't perfect—Steve wasn't Phil and would never try to be—but it was enough. Clint was comfortable and safe with Steve here and the need to stay awake faded quickly. With his dreams guarded, he was able to finally give in to the exhaustion that had plagued him since the fight and sleep.


	6. Phil (and the whole team)

Clint stepped off the elevator onto his floor, his eyes on his hand as he unfastened his shooting glove, and nodded his agreement to meet the rest of the team upstairs for dinner as soon as he'd showered and changed. He was tired, thinking only of food and rest, and the bit of blood on his glove distracted him enough that he made it four steps before he realized the elevator door hadn't closed and the silence behind him was unnatural.

Slowly, Clint turned and looked back at the elevator. Tony was standing between the doors, forcing JARVIS to keep them open, and Steve was right behind him, bracing himself with one hand on the elevator wall as he stared over Clint's shoulder at something behind him.

"Guys?" Clint asked, refastening his glove. His weapons were already put away, but he could hold his own in hand-to-hand combat with anything human. There was no need to hamper himself with the loose glove no matter what was behind him. "What is it?"

"Just turn around, Clint," Tony said in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "We'll see you upstairs when you're ready."

"Take as long as you need," Steve added. He nodded at whatever was behind Clint as he stepped back into the elevator, and the doors closed with JARVIS's usual efficiency.

Clint blinked at the polished steel, reminded himself that Tony and Steve wouldn't have left if there was a threat, and turned around. The moment his gaze landed on the figure sitting on his couch, he froze, his breath catching in his throat and his heart thudding wildly in his chest. This couldn't be right. He couldn't actually be seeing what he thought he was. It would explain Steve’s and Tony's behavior, but this wasn't something that happened to people like him. He made the best of nightmares; he didn't get to have his dreams come true.

The figure stood, looking just different enough from Clint's memory that he could almost believe he was really seeing this, and took a hesitant step forward. "Clint?"

The voice was weaker than Clint remembered it, but the tone was so familiar that Clint took a step forward without realizing it. "Phil?" he asked, his left hand reaching out to touch the man who was still too far away.

"In the flesh," Phil said, a small, familiar smile on his face.

It was enough to make Clint take another step forward, his extended hand shaking as he tried to reconcile what he saw in front of him with what he knew to be true. "But you're dead."

"No." Phil's expression sobered, and he crossed the gap between them, stopping just short of Clint's fingers. "I didn't die."

"You did." Clint dropped his hand, unwilling to risk brushing it against Phil. Touch would confirm this wasn't real, and as much as he knew he deserved to have this ripped away from him again, he couldn't bear to let it happen yet. "You died. On the Helicarrier. Loki—" Clint stopped and closed his eyes as he tried to block out the memories of Loki's voice in his head. He'd been patched in to SHIELD channels when Phil had died, but at the time he'd felt only satisfaction. "Loki stabbed you, and you _died_."

Phil reached out, stopped with his hand in mid-air when Clint jerked back. "Loki stabbed me and I coded, but I didn't die. Fury ordered me not to," he added, the small smile back on his lips, but worry still present in his eyes.

It was so Phil-like that Clint had to stop himself from reaching out. "Then where have you been? Loki, the Chitauri, that was _months_ ago!"

"I was in a coma for a while, then I had to build up my strength again. Fury had me at one of SHIELD's secret locations. I was just released this morning." Phil touched Clint gently on his shoulder, and this time Clint didn't flinch away. "I came straight here."

The gentle touch was enough to convince Clint this was real. He closed his eyes and held his body rigid, determined not to lean into Phil's touch. "Fury said you were dead, and you- you let us believe that. You could've called. You could've let us—let _me_ —know."

"Nobody knew." Phil sighed and dropped his hand from Clint's shoulder. "I have enemies, Clint. _SHIELD_ has enemies. The only way to be sure I was safe until I recovered was to make sure no one knew I was alive. I wanted to tell you, Clint, but this was the only way."

Clint opened his eyes and looked at Phil accusingly. He deserved the nightmare of the past months, he knew that, but the knowledge didn't make this hurt any less. "You left me alone," he whispered in a shaky voice.

"I asked about you," Phil said as though that made it better. To him, it probably did. "Fury and Hill both said you were okay."

They would think that. Clint had tried to hide his nightmares from everyone, and with the exception of the other Avengers, he'd succeeded. "I've had nightmares every night since Loki," he said, looking Phil straight in the eyes so he could see just how broken the whole experience had left him.

Phil slid his palm down Clint's arm and squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry. If I could've been here, I would have. Did you get any decent sleep?"

Clint ducked his head and turned his hand over to press his palm against Phil's. He wanted to pull off his shooting glove so there was nothing between his skin and Phil's, but that would mean letting go, and he wasn't sure he could still believe Phil was real if he lost contact even for the short amount of time it would take. "There were a few nights," he said, forcing himself to focus on the answer to Phil's question instead of the material between his fingers and the back of Phil's hand.

"Just a few?" Phil asked softly, taking Clint's other hand in his.

Clint felt better as soon as he curled the fingers of his right hand around the back of Phil's left, and he nodded. Technically, there had been more than a few nights he'd gotten a decent amount of sleep—his body hadn't allowed otherwise—but he could only remember five nights since Loki the sleep had been uninterrupted and restful. "The others noticed."

"And cuddled you?" Phil let go of Clint's left hand and pulled the shooting glove off. He frowned at the smear of blood—not Clint's—that had distracted Clint when he first stepped off the elevator, then tossed the glove on the coffee table and started removing the bracer from Clint's other arm.

The way Phil knew exactly what Clint needed released something inside him and he chuckled. "They did."

" _All_ of them?" Phil looked more surprised than Clint had seen since he'd bought Natasha into SHIELD instead of killing her. "Even Stark?"

"Tony was second." Clint smiled fondly at the memory. "He ambushed me in the kitchen and insisted I tell him what I thought of this super-special mattress and pillow he bought for Pepper."

"And you fell for that?" Phil asked in a dry, disbelieving tone as he tossed the bracer to join the shooting glove. "Really."

"Was tired." Clint shrugged, trying to play it off. "That was when I wasn't sleeping at all."

"And after?" Phil asked, getting straight to the heart of the matter. "Did you sleep then?"

"Yes." The night spent in Tony's arms had been a breaking point, and Clint had gotten a couple hours of sleep every night since. They usually hadn't been restful, but it had been enough to keep his body functioning, and that was all he'd been able to ask of himself.

Phil squeezed his eyes shut. "I owe _Stark_ for getting you to sleep again."

"Sorry?"

"Don't be." Phil pulled Clint into a hug. "I'm glad he helped, I just didn't expect it. I thought I'd have to thank Natasha and maybe Captain Rogers, but not Stark."

"Don't forget Bruce and Thor," Clint said, his words muffled by Phil's shoulder as he melted into the embrace. "They helped too."

Phil rubbed his hand up and down Clint's back. "The whole team, huh?"

Something loosened in Clint's chest and he wrapped his arms around Phil. The weight he'd been carrying since Loki didn't vanish, but it felt lighter, like something he could carry. For the first time since waking up strapped to the bed in the Helicarrier infirmary, he smiled easily.

"Yeah," he said, lifting his head and grinning at Phil. "Most of them tricked me into cuddling. Steve manhandled me into bed."

The shocked look on Phil's face was so comical Clint couldn't resist kissing him. He intended it to be a delighted peck and nothing more, but Phil parted his lips and tangled a hand in Clint's hair, and Clint was lost. He kissed Phil enthusiastically, all fervor and no finesse, and relished the taste and touch he never thought he'd get again. If he had his way, they would have stayed there forever, desperately relearning each other's mouths, but Phil pulled back with a pained gasp when Clint hugged him tighter.

"Sorry." Phil kept one arm around Clint as he pressed the other to his chest. "It's a little sensitive sometimes."

That looked like more than a little sensitive, but Clint didn't bother to contradict him. He ruthlessly squashed the guilt he could feel rising in his chest—this wasn't the time and Phil wouldn't let him dwell anyway—and stepped back, though not out of Phil's grasp. "Should have told me."

"I just did." Phil looked straight into Clint's eyes. "I'm fine, Clint. I promise. They wouldn't have released me if I weren't. It's just sensitive, that's all."

"It shouldn't be," Clint muttered before sucking in a deep breath. "Do you have any restrictions? Do you need to rest?"

Phil looked at Clint appraisingly. "Rest wouldn't hurt. I need to get my bag if I'm going to stay the night, though."

Clint's chest tightened at the thought of Phil leaving. "Where else would you stay?" Before, he had unofficially lived in Phil's apartment when they were both in town, but after Phil's supposed death, he hadn't been back. He'd sent Natasha to grab his stuff and had left Phil's for SHIELD to clean out.

"I don't know." Phil smiled softly. "I hoped I could stay here, but I didn't want to assume. My bag is in my car."

"Leave it. We'll get it later. You can borrow something tonight." Clint pulled Phil toward the bedroom, unwilling to let him out of his sight for even a moment. He could believe this was real as long as he could see and touch Phil, but he knew the moment he couldn't do either, he would start to doubt everything again. Even if all this was just an elaborate hallucination his brain cooked up to punish him, he wanted to hold on for as long as possible.

"I'd come right back," Phil said, though he followed Clint without any further resistance.

"I know." Clint stopped when they reached the bedroom and turned to look Phil straight in the eyes. "Just not ready for that yet. You were _dead_ , Phil, and I helped Loki do it. I can't just get over that because you're standing here now."

"I don't expect you to."

"You expected me to be okay thinking you were dead." Clint looked away, embarrassed, the moment the words left his mouth. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I expected you to be strong enough to be okay until I could tell you I wasn't dead, and you _were_." Phil waited for Clint to look at him again. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, though."

"Not your fault." As upset as he was, Clint knew that if Nick Fury had decided Phil was dead, there was nothing Phil could have done until Fury decided he was allowed to be alive again.

"That doesn't mean I can't be sorry." Phil squeezed Clint's hand. "If I'd had any choice, I would have let you know. I should have found a way."

Clint shook his head. He understood the reality even though he didn't like it, and he knew if Phil had tried, it would have delayed their reunion, if they got to have one at all. "No. You did what you had to. I get it. You just might have to put up with me hovering for a while."

"I think I can manage that," Phil deadpanned. "Now you said something about borrowing clothes for the night?"

Clint blinked at the change of subject. "Right." He had to force himself to let go of Phil's hand so he could pull two sets of sleep pants out of his dresser.

"Thanks." Phil slowly removed his jacket and draped it over the chair then toed off his shoes and lined them up neatly underneath it. He winced as he straightened, pressing one hand against his chest, a gesture Clint had seen twice too often since finding Phil on his couch.

"Are you okay?" he asked, reaching toward Phil but stopping short of touching him. "Do you need anything?"

"Like I said, rest wouldn't hurt, but I'm _fine_ ," Phil said as he unbuttoned his shirt. "It just pulled wrong."

"Okay." Clint looked away, focusing on undoing the zippers and clasps that fastened his field suit so he wouldn't have to think about the way Phil shrugged off the pain. He didn't look up until he was completely changed into the maroon and black pajama bottoms Tony had tossed at him one day, saying they matched his costume.

Phil was in the dark green and navy pants Clint had handed him and he'd left his undershirt on, much to Clint's relief. He wanted to see the wound that had almost cost Phil his life, just... not yet. He'd already dealt with too much today to handle seeing that right now.

Clint tossed his clothes in the laundry bin, confident JARVIS would have someone take care of them properly, and turned back to see Phil climbing into bed. "You were serious about the rest thing, huh?"

"You seem determined to make me do something." Phil lay down and patted the mattress next to him. "This seems easiest."

There was something in his tone that made Clint give Phil an appraising look as he climbed into bed. "You're trying to get me to rest, aren't you? You keep telling me you could use rest so I'll stay with you and get some myself."

"Maybe." Phil pulled Clint over so Clint was lying half on top of him, his head on Phil's right shoulder. "You clearly need someone to make sure you can sleep. I love you, so that makes me the best person for the job."

All of Clint's planned protests melted away at those three words, and he smiled as he snuggled in closer, feeling happier than he'd imagined feeling since Loki destroyed almost everything he cared about. "Love you too."

Phil chuckled as he kissed Clint on the forehead and pulled back when Clint tipped his head up, looking for more. "Sleep," he said, settling back into the pillow with a happy sigh.

Clint wanted to push, to beg for more until Phil gave it to him, but he was warm and comfortable. He knew nightmares wouldn't plague his dreams with Phil finally here to keep them away, and that was enough for him to nod and give in to the weariness that had been plaguing him for months. "Night," he said, tucking his arm around Phil's chest. "Can you get the lights, JARVIS?"

"I would, sirs, but I am afraid the others are requesting your presence upstairs. It appears Captain Rogers mentioned Agent Coulson's presence and they would like to see him." JARVIS paused as though he were considering his next words carefully. "It was mentioned they would be happy to come to you if you do not wish to go to them."

Clint snorted as he rolled over, his head still pillowed on Phil's arm, and stretched. "Nat said she would come down here whether we liked it or not if we didn't go up there, didn't she?"

"It was something to that effect, yes," JARVIS said, sounding distressed. "She threatened to override my protocols when I informed her I could not allow her on your floor without your permission."

"It's all right, JARVIS," Phil said apologetically. "I won't make you go through that twice in one night. Tell them they can come down, please."

"Very good, sir," JARVIS said in a tone Clint previously thought was reserved for his interactions with Tony. "I appreciate the consideration."

At Phil's guilty look, everything clicked in Clint's mind and his mouth dropped open as he sat up. "You overrode JARVIS's protocols. That's how you got in." The slight flush of Phil's cheeks told Clint all he needed to know. "I thought that was something you only did in an emergency."

"The circumstances seemed to warrant it," Phil said dryly as he sat up and scooted back to lean against the headboard. "I wanted a chance to talk to you alone before—"

He paused as the elevator chimed, JARVIS's way of letting them know the others had arrived.

"Impecible timing," Clint murmured, looking wryly at Phil. He settled against the headboard as well then raised his voice and called out, "We're in the bedroom!"

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Tony appeared in the doorway. "Why, Agent, I didn't know you were an exhibitionist."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Stark," Phil said, sitting up straighter and arranging the covers over his lap like armor.

The others crowded behind Tony, but Natasha slipped past into the room and stopped by the bed. "Fury said you died," she said, looking down at Phil with an unreadable expression. "We had a funeral."

"I'm sorry. It was necessary."

Natasha nodded then climbed into bed next to Phil and settled pressed almost as close to him as Clint was. "Don't do it again."

"I'll do my best," Phil said quietly, squeezing Clint's hand under the covers as he looked at Natasha. "But I can't promise that."

Tony chose that moment to step into the room, letting Bruce, Steve, and Thor in behind him. He swaggered over to the foot of the bed and looked all three of them up and down. "So is this some sort of kinky threesome thing, or can anybody join in?"

"Tony!" Steve stopped a few feet into the room and looked apologetically at Clint and Phil. "I'm sorry. I tried to stop them from coming down, but Natasha was insistent," he said with the air of a man who'd learned the hard way not to cross the Black Widow when she was in certain moods.

"It's all right," Phil said, and though Clint privately wished they had more time alone, he couldn't begrudge the others their presence. They had all mourned Phil too, in their own ways.

"Are you sure?" Bruce tugged at the sleeve of his shirt as he stepped up next to Steve. "We wanted to see you for ourselves, but we can go if you'd rather."

"It's fine." Phil smiled. "I hear I owe you all thanks for taking care of Clint while I was...indisposed."

Okay, maybe Clint _could_ begrudge the others their presence. He groaned and tried to sink down under the covers, but Phil had an iron grip on his hand and he only managed to slump a little. "You _had_ to bring it up, didn't you?"

"As I said before, there is no shame in requiring comfort, Clint." Thor came up to stand next to Tony. "I am pleased to have you back, Son of Coul. It was my honor to help Clint in his time of need."

"Yeah, Clint, it was an honor." Tony smirked, his eyes dancing in a way that meant trouble. "In fact, it was so much of an honor, I think that's how Phil should thank us." He climbed onto the bed and settled on top of the covers next to Clint. "Puppy pile!"

Bruce shook his head, but he toed off his shoes and climbed onto the bed next to Tony. "If you don't mind?" he asked, and urged Tony to take off his shoes and get under the covers when Phil shook his head. "We'll probably all sleep better tonight if we're down here."

Clint couldn't deny that was true. He would have slept fine with just Phil, but there was something about having Tony pressed up against his back and the knowledge that Natasha was on Phil's other side that was comforting. There was no chance Phil would disappear in the middle of the night with everyone there, and since Tony's extravagance meant his bed was large enough to hold them all, there was no reason not to. "He has a point," he said to Steve and Thor as he pulled Phil down and wrapped around him. "You two might as well join us."

Steve shrugged and sat on the bed next to Natasha. "Do you mind?" he asked as he lay flat on his back and stared up at the ceiling. "I can let you have the outside if you'd rather."

"Don't be an idiot," Natasha scoffed. She pulled Steve so he was spooning her, her head resting on Phil's shoulder. "I would have left when Tony suggested we all cuddle if I had a problem with it."

Thor waited until everyone was settled and contemplated the bed for a moment before climbing in next to Bruce. Clint felt the bed dip as he climbed in, then a slight increase of pressure on his back as Thor added another spoon to the chain of Clint-Tony-Bruce. "I couldn't decide if Clint or Phil should be in the center," he admitted as he pulled the covers up to everyone's shoulders.

Clint chuckled, secretly pleased that he won. He should have been uncomfortable, pressed between Tony and Phil this way, with three people on either side of him and no way to get out quickly, but he felt safe and relaxed in a way he didn't know was possible. "Doesn't matter. We're all here."

"Yes." Phil tipped Clint's chin up and kissed him softly. "Now sleep. Some of us need our rest."

If Clint had been asked to imagine this situation, he would have thought none of them would get any rest because of all the noise they were sure to make, but everyone was surprisingly quiet as JARVIS turned off the lights. There were a few murmurs as everyone got settled, then silence. Clint listened as one by one his teammates' breathing evened out. Then, his head resting on the chest of the man he loved and his team literally at both their backs, he went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed.


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